Mary Christmas
by Athena'sDragon
Summary: Laurie King's character Mary Russell has become friends with Sherlock Holmes in London at the height of his career rather than in Sussex after his retirement. When Watson proposes a Christmas concert and Holmes agrees (though he knows Russell to be Jewish), what is his motive? Companion piece to "The Detective's Apprentice," can stand alone. HAPPY HOLIDAYS


_Author's Note: This is a companion piece to my story "The Detective's Apprentice," though it can probably be read by itself. Laurie King's character Mary Russell has become friends with Sherlock Holmes in London at the height of his career rather than in Sussex after his retirement._

_I know I've missed both Christmas and Hanukkah by a margin of several days, but there you are._

_Happy Holidays! Enjoy 2015._

* * *

><p><strong>Mary Christmas<strong>

_December 1889_

I had to admit that London shone its brightest during the Christmas season. Candles and lanterns gilded the frosty streets with their glow and even the stars seemed to make an extra effort.

The feeling of goodwill was contagious: from children dashing excitedly between the shop windows to the snugly-wrapped carolers, everyone had a smile on their lips and a light in their eyes. Though I myself did not celebrate the holiday, I found myself going through the motions for the sake of those friends who did. I even bought Ronnie a lovely bonnet adorned with a sprig of artificial holly and a few trinkets for my friends at Baker Street.

And so it was laden down with these parcels that I picked my way down the cobblestones in the dark, unable to see my feet because of the awkward way they were balanced in my arms. I aimed at the sound of a cluster of festive singers whom I had seen gathered outside the door of 221B as I had turned the corner.

"O Holy night, the stars are brightly shining…" they intoned in a simple two-part harmony. Shouldering past them, murmuring apologies and excuses, I pushed the door open with my foot and finally dumped the pile of packages on the floor. I stood and arched my back, massaging my shoulders after the long trek. Blood rushed back into my ears and nose with a pleasant stinging sensation at the warmth of the room, which smelt of pine boughs and baked treats.

"I'm home, Mrs. Hudson!" I called in the direction of the kitchen before once again gathering my things to tackle the stairs. The cheerful melody of the carolers faded and was replaced with the more melancholy tones of Holmes's violin. After tucking the gifts into the corner of my closet and haphazardly throwing a blanket over them, I continued upstairs to investigate.

At first, I could see nothing. The drapes were drawn and it looked as though quilts had somehow been fastened over them to further diminish the outside noise. I entered cautiously, following the sound of "Auld Lang Syne" being drawn from Holmes's favorite Stradivarius. Eventually I could make out the fluctuating glow of the bowl of his pipe, faintly illuminating the hollows of his face with orange.

"For auld lang syne, my jo," I joined in, putting on a heavy Scotch accent, "for auld lang syne, we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne."

The smoldering face flared as Holmes chuckled around the pipe stem. He exaggerated the harmony slightly so that I could sing melody and we stumbled awkwardly through a few verses before I was too out of breath from laughter.

"My dear Russell, I am humbled that you chose to investigate with me rather than follow your destined path with the Royal Opera," my friend said gravely in the complete darkness.

I made my way, hands outstretched, to the padded windows. "Perhaps you are so humbled that you would allow me to end your self-inflicted blindness. Unless, of course, this is some kind of experiment for a case the details of which I have not yet heard."

There was no response besides a slightly petulant sigh, so I gave a mighty tug on the quilt. It came away in my hands and fell to the floor to let in a stream of silver moonlight, which seemed breathtakingly bright compared to our previous situation. I blinked for a few moments before shoving aside the drapes, too, and throwing up the sash.

Now Holmes protested. "Is that really necessary, Russell?"

I moved to the other window to repeat the process. "No one has ever died of too much festivity, Holmes, and certainly not someone who actually celebrates Christmas." Celebrate was a strong word to describe anything Holmes did, but I pushed on regardless. "It is possible, however, to suffocate from the fumes of one's own pipe, and I feel that you are rather in danger of doing so. The night air may do you some good." Once both windows were unobstructed and open, I found my way to a few candles and lit them. In a small acknowledgement of my friend's complaints I neglected to turn on the gas lights.

"Yes Mrs. Hudson," he said sarcastically and blew a large smoke ring. I only shook my head and leaned against the wall to listen to the carolers as they made their way down the street. Many songs of the season got on my nerves, but those which captured the true religious spirit I usually found acceptable. My heart lifted a little as the small choir began "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" and I hummed along under my breath.

I let the song carry me for a few lines. It was a favorite for carolers in London, I had quickly learned, and it reminded me of my first Christmas here with my aunt. I had spent it out on the streets, conversing with the vagabonds clustered where they thought they might find warmth. It was much cheerier company than my aunt and her party of sneering gentlewomen.

A low, throaty note suddenly sprang up through the chill of the air welling through the window. It was the tone of a violin, and it quickly matched the key of the singers and picked up the harmony. Holmes added embellishments to the tune until it was quite cheerful compared to the original. I doubted that the carolers below could hear him but I at least enjoyed the performance.

When the singers at the door finally sank into silence and I heard their footsteps moving off down the street, I slid shut the windows with a clatter. Holmes transitioned into a complicated bridge and multiple key changes before once again settling into "Auld Lang Syne." I smiled to myself, shaking my head at this unknowable man, and went downstairs to help Mrs. Hudson with the cooking.

* * *

><p>"The blue carbuncle has been returned to its rightful owner," Holmes announced with more than a hint of pride in his voice. "And, perhaps more importantly, we have a goose out of the whole situation."<p>

I picked at my lacy sleeve, once again wearing a dress rather too formal for my tastes, though this time it was at Mrs. Hudson's insistence. I had never actually told her I was Jewish and therefore didn't celebrate Christmas, but after so many years I didn't have the heart. "I can't wait to read Uncle John's version of the story. How will he reconcile his cold, tactical portrayal of you with the mercy you showed the man?"

Holmes laughed, reaching over the back of his chair for a pipe. It was Christmas Eve and the two of us were waiting for Dr. Watson to return so that we could plan some adventure. I thought it might be rather entertaining to go to Covent Gardens in disguise: Holmes could play his violin, I could perform feats of acrobatics, and I was sure that Watson would enjoy working the crowd only to gallantly refuse tips. Then perhaps the three of us could go for dinner.

For a few minutes, there was only the puffing of Holmes's pipe and the crackling of the fire as I curled sleepily in the chair. When I finally heard the familiar clumping footsteps coming up the stairs, Holmes stood on one fluid motion. "Ah, my dear Watson! I thought that perhaps-"

Watson held up a hand to cut off his friend. Holmes waited, amused. "Say no more, Holmes, for I have a wonderful treat! Here in my pocket are three tickets to a performance of a collection of classic Christmas carols at the Royal Opera House tonight, including special appearances by famed vocalist Elsa Winthrop and violin soloist Christopher Gunther." He fell silent, rocking backwards and forwards and beaming.

I chuckled. "Uncle John, I'm not sure you realize-"

"Just how excited Russell is to see this show," Holmes cut smoothly over me. I raised my eyebrows at him, scrutinizing his face for evidence of satire, but I could see nothing. "She was just telling me all about it but was worried that it might be too late to get tickets." There: a slight tremor of his lips indicative of repressed laughter.

Watson clapped his hands together. "Excellent! I propose that we enjoy the wonderful supper Mrs. Hudson is cooking and then take a cab. It's a beautiful evening."

I had no idea what Holmes's motive was, but I found that it was usually better to play along with his schemes. He might even have good reason. I stood, brushing out the folds of my dress, and smiled brightly. "That sounds wonderful, Uncle John! What a delightful Christmas treat," I said, emphasizing the adjective to let Holmes know that I was in on the game.

* * *

><p>It was a beautiful performance, despite the fact that I was originally uninterested. The soloists were en pointe and the orchestra was impressive. Watson's face was positively glowing with happiness as he leaned forward in his seat for the final song. The longing strains of "Auld Lang Syne" reverberated around the large hall and I was suddenly reminded of Holmes's playing the other night.<p>

I looked across at my two companions. Holmes reclined easily in his chair, eyes shut and a small, contented smile on his lips. As I watched, he opened one eye, saw me looking, and hiked up his mouth in a crooked grin. Watson's eyes were wide and shining with emotion as the orchestra reached its final crescendo. After a breath of awed silence, hundreds of people exploded into applause all around us and I couldn't help but grin along with them.

* * *

><p>"And what did you think, Russell?" Holmes asked in the cab on the way home after Watson had finished giving his glowing review. I tried to read his gaze to see where this game would go next, but I could find no cues.<p>

"To be honest, I wasn't sure that I would enjoy it when we first arrived. But I thought that they were excellent!"

Watson frowned slightly. "But I thought you were excited to see this show?"

I laughed a little to myself. "Actually, Uncle John-" I was cut short by the stern warning written all over Holmes's face and I hastily adjusted the direction of my sentence. "Actually, I think Holmes exaggerated somewhat. It was he who was so enchanted by the idea of the show." I threw myself into the telling as Holmes relaxed back in his seat. "Do you know, I think he was embarrassed! Just look at him, unable to admit that he wanted to go to a performance." I laughed and Watson joined me after a second.

"Is this true, Holmes?"

My friend smiled sheepishly. "I should have known better than to try and hide from Russell's deductive powers, Watson. How am I to maintain my air of aloofness if it is known that I love Christmas carols?"

The three of us laughed while I inwardly wondered what his real motive had been.

* * *

><p>"Ah, thank you, Russell!" Holmes exclaimed. "This scarf is just the thing for being out in the streets this time of year." If it was just the two of us, I knew, he would have been more subtle in expressing his gratitude, but he did try to be warmer around Mrs. Hudson.<p>

I looked around at my friends, each admiring their new gifts. Watson had given me a shawl to replace my birthday present from so long ago. Mrs. Hudson presented a pretty little chain necklace, and Holmes himself gave me a magnificent new magnifying glass. As odd as it was for me to be sitting here and exchanging gifts on Christmas morning as though I had been doing it all my life, there was a certain cheerful warmth in the air.

Mrs. Hudson suddenly started. "Oh, dear, I forgot that I put the kettle on. I'll go and fetch us all some tea, shall I?" Watson jumped up to follow her out of the room, presumably to help her with the tray, and I turned to Holmes.

"I was so sure that you were going to spring my religion on Watson like some great joke at the concert last night. What was that all about?" It was my first opportunity to ask him since the event.

Holmes looked at me reproachfully. "That wouldn't be in the spirit of Christmas, would it, Russell?"

I raised my eyebrows. "You were being nice? Because it was Christmas?"

"Because Watson is my friend." He wrapped the scarf around his neck, theatrically tossing the end over his shoulder.

"I'm your friend too," I accused, "and yet I had to sit through a Christmas concert when you know very well that I'm Jewish." My friend didn't answer for several seconds. He seemed to busy himself with a stray thread at the end of his scarf. Then he looked up and I saw the laughter dancing in his eyes and I was struck by an unpleasant realization. "I thought that you were playing a joke on Watson, and yet I was the target all along!"

He allowed his loud, self-satisfied laughter to escape. I huffed but had to admit that he had completely taken me in.

"Is something funny?" Watson asked as he preceded Mrs. Hudson into the room, carrying a tray piled high with biscuits and teacups.

I smiled sweetly. "No, Uncle John, nothing whatsoever." I grabbed a biscuit and raised it as though in a toast. "Happy Hanukkah."


End file.
